LEADVILLE, Colorado — In the balmy predawn hours of last August, 71-year-old Marge Hickman took the brace off her sprained ankle and eased onto the starting line of the Leadville Trail 100 Mile Race. She said part of her is going back to her home. Racing was not what it used to be. Anyway, she didn’t feel wanted. She loved this race. She hated this race. She has had her whole life centered around this race.
She will finish this race, she told herself. She supported herself with her positive words.LND (no doubt). One direction: Forward. Let go; leave it to God. When shotguns finally took off, Hickman, a 5-foot, 100-pound runner nervously stepped into the thin, cold air of the Rocky Mountains: If she could finish, she’d be the oldest woman will be
Hickman is best known for the Leadville 100, a brutal high-altitude race that winds its way through mountains at an altitude of 15,744 feet. She is masochistically obsessed with racing, according to her friends, who point out that she has had two surgeries on her shoulder. Two procedures for plantar fasciitis causing heel pain. And a plate on her wrist.
She has completed the race 14 times, but has not done so in over ten years. She coyly admits it, but she’s still kicking ass, and she affirms that in her words, she “has her name.” Her training record (averaging 80 miles per week) and a series of ultramarathons back up her claims. “I learned to let go of ageism a long time ago,” she said.
Ultrarunning has long been a powerful draw for true eccentrics. Among them is Bob Wise, who suffered a brain injury in a car accident, but found that the longer the race, the more he freed himself from the noise in his head. Despite his drooping posture and tendency to hit trees, he competed in numerous his 6-day and his 7-day races, and in his first qualified 1,000-mile race he finished 903 miles. racewalking.
Scottish runner Arthur John Howey once held three world records. He ran 360 miles non-stop, raced 1,300 miles in 16 days and 19 hours and set the speed record across Canada in 72 days and 10 hours. What is his favorite fuel? lots of beer.
A single mother of five, Jameelah Abdul-Rahim Mujaahid started running Ultra on the weekends after stints as district manager at four Burger Kings during the day and night shifts at Waffle House. At age 54, he has completed more than 200 ultramarathons.
For Hickman, extreme exercise was needed to offset lifelong bouts of anxiety and depression. She said she spent Snow-capped mountains towered on the horizon, pristine streams murmured, and her transformation from shy child, her parents forced her to wear glasses to be smarter, into her self-owned athlete. It has become a symbol.
When her gym doors opened at 6:00, she ran on the carpeted track. “Then an aerobics class,” she said. “At lunchtime, she runs five miles for an hour and a half. A quick wipe, put back on her jeans, put on some perfume and go back to work. After getting off, she’s back for racquetball. ”
But it was at a Denver running shop in 1984 that fate seemed to find her. She met Jim Her Boutella, a bearded hippie who ran an obscure race called “Ultra”, sold her running shoes, and professed extreme running as a way of life. “I thought he was the best since canned corn,” Hickman said. When he showed her a flyer for his latest idea for her 100-mile race in the mountains of Colorado—a race across the sky—it seemed impossible. she went crazy.
Her initiation in Leadville in August of that year was an ominous foreshadowing of the racial associations she would have for the rest of her life. After nearly 13 miles of root-to-face planting, she moved forward, bleeding from her knees and face, and rapidly swelling twisted ankles. When I saw the finish line, tears began to flow.
Her first marriage ended the same year her romance with Leadville began. “I blame my exercise addiction,” Hickman admitted.
The following year, she won the women’s division and placed 11th overall. She returned like a homing pigeon for her next 27 years and went on to complete the race more times than any other female runner in Leadville’s storied history, a total of 14 times.
In 1997 she got married again. This time, she married a runner on the course’s iconic summit during her beloved race. The couple moved to the city of Leadville in her 2004, and she became even more enamored with her ever-expanding series of Leadville races.
However, in 2010, the series was sold to Life Time Fitness. What felt like a cozy affair among like-minded trail enthusiasts became Disneyland on the mountain.Prices have increased, gifts have been added to his shop, and the field has expanded from his 625 participants in 2011. 943 by 2013.
After Boutella’s death in 2012, Hickman became disdainful and races went back and forth without mention of the former race director. By then, the race had long been led by Ken Clouber and Merrill Maupin, who is widely credited with popularizing the race. In her book on the history of the Leadville 100, Hickman articulates her point of view. Since then, she and Chlouber have been at odds, with her bravado getting her banned in 2019.
Chlouber did not respond to a request for comment.
Under pressure from runners, including Gary Corbitt, son of ultrarunning legend Ted Corbitt, Hickman is back to race in 2021. She had another shot at crossing her line.
When she reached the halfway point, Hickman was exactly where she wanted her to be. She completed her 13 hours, but she still has over 16 hours left. She felt stronger than she had in years. In her other major 100-miler, she wouldn’t have been home had it not been for her injuries.
But not Leadville. A new rule enacted a few weeks before the race gave her only four hours to get to her next aid station. Changes were made to reduce congestion, according to race officials. Effectively, Hickman and slower runners like her were eliminated even though they most likely could have finished before the 30-hour cutoff time.
While volunteers cut her wristbands, she sat shuffling in a chair on Mile 50, effectively disqualifying her from the race. rice field. She stared at her watch, confused about what had gone wrong, her emotions rumbling in her gut.
Initially, Hickman took a conspiratorial position, citing the fact that she was the most decorated Leadville veteran not inducted into the Leadville Hall of Fame. “They say they’re waiting for me to retire,” she said. “They say they are waiting for me to die.”
A formal declaration of closure followed. She ended up in Leadville. she had enough. she was exhausted. Her heart was no longer in it.
She signed up for the 2022 race five weeks later. Those who knew her said it was inevitable. “Leadville was half my life,” Hickman joked sarcastically. There was a mixture of joy and heaviness in her voice. “It’s in your face. Come and grab your heart and breathe it in.”
In the third week of August, she lines up at Leadville again and decides to write her own ending.
“Yeah, I like to read books and stuff, but I’m a doer,” Hickman, now 72, added while applying makeup to his black eyes from a recent fall. To keep running.Even if they cut my wristband,I’m just going to keep walking.I’m going to finish my race.”
